Late Night Conversations
by Etoile87
Summary: Rachel needs one more recommendation letter for NYADA. Luckily, the perfect candidate is more than willing to step forward and offer his services - as well as some other advice. Set after 3x06.


**AN:** Every time there is a scene with Shelby and Rachel, I sit there going, 'Someone mention Jesse. Someone please mention Jesse. Oh, they're really going to end this scene without - argh!' Yep, finally snapped. Also - there need to be some consequences for Finn's actions. This is essentially the result of a 20-minute temper tantrum my friend and I just had on the phone after tonight's episode. So ... be kind? ;)

**Spoilers:** For 'Mash-Off' (3x06), S3 in general.

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. I wish.

**Late Night Conversations**

She's been lying awake for two hours already, staring up at the ceiling of her darkened room. So she's less annoyed than she should be when she hears the opening chords of 'Don't Rain On My Parade' in the middle of the night.

She quickly rolls over to grab the phone before it can wake her dads, and her eyes widen when she glances at the lighted screen. She knows the number that's displayed there by heart, even though Santana finally made her delete it from her address book sometime last year.

She hesitates a second before flipping the phone open to answer. Her heart rate is skyrocketing, but she thinks - to her own ear - that she manages to sound admirably calm as she says, "Hello?"

"Hi, Rachel."

She sighs, because she does not have the energy to deal with this tonight. "What do you want, Jesse?"

"It's nice to talk to you again, too," he says sweetly, the bite of sarcasm just under the surface.

"Look, if you called to gloat - "

"What would I have to gloat about?"

She wonders if he isn't being sarcastic again - but he does genuinely sound confused. "Jesse, if there's not a point to this conversation - a real point other than one-upsmanship - I'm going to have to ask you to let me get my sleep."

"You don't sound like you were sleeping. Your voice is too awake."

"If you - "

"Rachel, are you going to keep accusing me of something I clearly know nothing about, or are you going to let me talk?"

She knows he's running a hand through his curls in frustration. She wonders how she can picture it so well. She hasn't actually seen him in nearly six months. The quiet knock on the hotel room door had come as the girls of New Directions were packing up their things in subdued silence, preparing to catch their flight back to Ohio later that day after their debacle at Nationals the day before. She'd hesitated briefly when Jesse had asked her to step out into the hall to talk, then followed him. She'd been bracing herself for anger, some theatrics - and she would have deserved them. Instead, she'd just blinked at him as he'd quietly, calmly informed her that he would not be getting on that plane back to Ohio, having chosen instead to stay in New York to try his luck at some auditions.

"After all," he'd said, a showface clearly in place and only a touch of bitterness in his voice, "I'm really not needed back in Ohio, am I?"

She hadn't had an answer, offering him a week apology and a good-luck wish instead.

"Rachel, are you still there?"

She jumps as he calls her back to the present. "Yeah," she says quietly, sitting up on the edge of her bed to clear her head. "I'm listening."

"I talked to Shelby yesterday."

"Oh." She's suddenly decidedly uncomfortable with this. Despite strides made in recent weeks, her relationship with her biological mother is tenuous at best - and it's all the more awkward that Shelby is the closest thing her ex-boyfriend has to a real mother.

"She told me you're applying to NYADA," he says. There's a little smile in his voice. "Rachel, that's a fantastic choice. They'll be lucky to have you."

"Then ... thank you, I guess."

"She also mentioned something about you needing a third recommendation letter, to go with hers and Schuester's." He hesitates a little. "I'd like to offer, if you haven't decided on someone yet."

"Jesse, as much as I truly appreciate the offer, don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

"How so?"

"I doubt the admissions committee will be impressed by a letter written by my ex-boyfriend."

"I'm a lot more than that, and you know it."

"I'm not going to stroke your ego, Jesse," she snaps.

He has the nerve to laugh. "My ego's intact, thank you. I didn't mean it that way."

"Then how so?"

"Look at it objectively. I'm a four-time show choir national champion. I'm currently auditioning in New York in front of various ball-busting directors and choreographers, many of whom are on NYADA's faculty and staff. They'll know the name, which will give your application some weight. I know you as one of the most formidable opponents I faced during my time at Carmel - plus, I worked with you in a professional capacity during my brief stint as McKinley's - how did you put it again? Show choir whisperer?"

She nods reluctantly, then realizes he can't see it. "You're going to tease me about that forever, aren't you?"

"I think forever sounds good," he teases back.

"Jesse..." she warns halfheartedly. She knows the light tone of his voice is just the first step on the slippery slope of flirtation they so easily slide down, and she's really too tired for it.

"Sorry. Look, I'll keep it fully professional. I know you, I know your work."

Lying unsaid in the silence that follows is what they both know - that he probably knows her better that anyone else who could possibly write her a letter, that he knows her talent and her passion in a way that no one else will, because he is so closely matched.

"Okay," she whispers, suddenly completely horrified to find her eyes wet. She _must_ be overtired. She pinches her noise in annoyance to try to keep the waver out of her voice. "Okay. Jesse, I ... thank you. So much."

"It's the least I can do," he says gently. She's profoundly grateful that he doesn't mention the way her voice sounds. She can't confirm, but she is fairly certain he's picking up on it. "Just let me know when you need it by and I'll have it to you well in advance."

"Thank you," she says again, lamely. She clears her throat. "Do you need a copy of my C.V.?"

He laughs a little. "I think I'm up to speed. Hell of a senior year, Rachel. Lead in the school musical - I'm sorry I didn't see that, by the way, I'm sure you filled Maria's shoes perfectly - running for class president - "

"Actually," she interrupts him, toying with the edge of the blanket, "I dropped out of the race."

"You what?"

"It was ... I panicked when I decided to run," she admits. "I was afraid I wasn't going to get the lead in the musical."

"Why would you think that?"

"You didn't see Mercedes. Her audition was flawless."

He snorts. "I was your show choir consultant," he reminds her. "Mercedes was _far_ from flawless when she auditioned for me last year. And if she wasn't flawless back then, then I highly doubt she is now, because she doesn't put in an iota of the work you do."

"She was very good," Rachel says diplomatically. "And you know as well as I do that casting directors' decisions can be based on any number of criteria. Anyway - I was worried I wasn't going to win the role, and I panicked, and I decided to run because I needed something outstanding on my C.V. from senior year."

"What was the fallout?"

"Kurt barely spoke to me for the last month."

"Ah. He's running, too."

"He was running before I was and I was supposed to help with his campaign," she says quietly. "Really, I should have pulled out when I won the role in the musical. I was an awful friend - I stepped all over Kurt's dreams." At the other end of the line, Jesse is too quiet. "What?"

"May I offer some advice?"

"Please." She flops back on the bed, suddenly tired. "Be my guest."

"I'm glad you have Kurt, and that the two of you support each other," he begins. "But you need to put your own dreams first. Because no one else will. I think you know that."

"Yeah. I guess I do." She closes her eyes.

"I'm not saying I disagree with your decision to withdraw - quite frankly, it's probably a good move to spend the year focused on your real passions rather than class politics and red tape. But you need to make sure you did it for the right reasons."

She sits up, considers. He patiently waits at the other end. She missed this, she realizes suddenly - having a conversation with someone who speaks the language so well, who doesn't roll her eyes when she opens her mouth, who values what she's saying and expects only the same in return.

"I'm okay with it," she says finally, sitting up again. "Yes, personal feeling motivated the decision - but it makes sense professionally as well. Sometimes, you can have your dreams and the people who matter along with them."

"Then congratulations, Rachel. You've figured out that great mystery of life that I couldn't manage to unlock my senior year."

"Jesse, you don't need to keep apologizing for that for the rest of your life." She hesitates a second. "We're young. We make stupid mistakes when we're young because we don't know what we want. All of us."

"Rachel, you don't need to keep apologizing for that for the rest of your life," he parrots back.

Despite herself, she laughs. "So, um ... how is New York? Where are you staying?"

"New York is ... New York," he says. She hears the smile in his voice, and finds herself smiling back, caught up in her own daydream of the city. "I have an overpriced studio apartment in Brooklyn. You'd hate it. The day I moved in, I saw a cockroach the size of a small rat." He laughs when she muffles a squeal in her palm so she doesn't wake the rest of the house up. "I've been going to auditions, or lessons, or workshops all day. At night I've been working at a couple of theaters - I sell programs, I usher ... it helps pay the bills. Hopefully I won't be doing that much longer, though."

"Yeah?"

"I got my first callback," he says, sounding quite pleased with himself and not a little smug. "For a new musical they're hoping to open Off-Broadway next spring. I go in on Saturday."

"Jesse, that's fantastic!" she exclaims, feeling genuinely thrilled. "Good luck. I'll be thinking of you."

"Thank you, Rachel," he murmurs, his own voice suddenly filled with something she can't quite put her finger on.

"It sounds like everything you ever dreamed of," she says quietly.

"It is," he agrees. "Just about."

"How is it different?"

"I never thought it would be lonely," he says quietly.

She's not sure how to respond, clutching the phone so hard it almost hurts.

He finally clears his throat, saves her. "How is everyone at McKinley?"

She hesitates, feeling the conversation coming to a crossroads. She knows she could take the easy out, offer some generic comments, and keep the door firmly closed. Or she could tell him the truth - which he'll probably figure out on his own, anyway.

_Oh, what the hell._

"Kurt and I made up. He and Blaine are still doing well - actually, Blaine was a great Tony." She takes a deep breath, then forges ahead. "Remember when I asked if you were calling to gloat?"

"Yeah."

"I broke up with Finn two days ago."

He's quiet for a second, then, "I'm sorry."

She laughs a little, humorlessly. "That's absurd. No, you're not."

"Not for _that_," he agrees. "But I'm sorry that you're going through this. Do you want to talk about it?" he offers. "Or sing about it?"

This time, there is mirth in her laugh. "Jesse, it's after midnight."

"Oh, yeah." He waits a second, clearly weighing his options. "Can I ask why?"

"There was some taunting going on between Finn and Santana all week, leading up to what was supposed to be a friendly competition with Shelby's club," she explains. "The tension was escalating, and apparently ... Finn outed Santana in the middle of the hallway."

"What a fucking jerk," he bursts out, before he can rein himself in. "Sorry. I - "

"No," she interrupts quietly. "Actually, you're right. I have two gay dads who I've watched deal with their fair share of insults growing up. And my best friend - and Finn's stepbrother, I might add - went through hell on earth last year because of who he is. Finn should have known better."

"I hope Santana got a good backhand in."

She snorts. "You know her too well. His face will be smarting for a week."

There's silence for another minute. She can actually hear him thinking on the other end of the line, fighting to rein himself in. She sighs. "Go ahead."

"I'm sorry it happened under these circumstances," he says immediately. "But at the risk of sounding smug, or like I'm gloating - you know it was never going to work anyway, right?"

"You've made abundantly clear just what you think of him, so many times."

"Hear me out," he insists. "He wants to stay in Ohio, take over Burt's shop, maybe play football, have a family someday. While my view of Hudson may be admittedly ... biased ... there's nothing wrong with that. But he needs someone whose view of the future matches up with that. And she's not you, Rachel. She's never been you. You are meant for something entirely different."

"It's lonely at the top," she says absently, almost reminding herself. "I know that."

"It doesn't have to be. You said it yourself earlier - sometimes, you can have your dreams and the people who matter along with them."

She knows what he isn't saying.

"I ... agree with you," she says quietly. "If the way those people think about the future lines up with how you think of yours."

She knows he knows what she isn't saying.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, content to leave it there for now. If you asked her a few days ago how she would be spending her Thursday night, this would not be it. But she finds she likes the surprise.

"Look," she finally breaks in. "If I get into NYADA - "

"_If?_" That private smile that's just for her is back in his voice, and she's sure he knows she's blushing.

"_When_," she stresses, for him, making him laugh. "I'm going to have to come to the city soon - to start sorting things out. Maybe ... I could buy you a cup of coffee? Thank you for that recommendation letter?"

"I'd like that. I'd like to see you," he says warmly. "But instead, maybe I could get a front-row seat next to Shelby at your Broadway debut?"

"As long as I can come to yours."

"It's a date," he says immediately. She smiles when he curses under his breath and almost trips over himself. She likes being the only one who can do this to him. "I didn't mean ... "

"No. It's okay," she cuts him off. "Yes. And ... yes. To both."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay, then."

She suddenly yawns a little, and he laughs. "Don't you have school in the morning?"

"Sadly, yes."

"You should get some sleep Rach."

"I suppose." She tucks her legs back under the covers, wincing when she glances at the time on her alarm clock. "I definitely suppose. Hey - you get some sleep, too. You have a big day coming up."

"Yeah, no pressure, right?"

"You're going to be wonderful, Jesse." She's quiet a second, thinking. "And Jesse? Thank you ... for _everything_."

"It's my pleasure, Rach."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She clicks the phone off, regards it for a second with her eyes wide, then reaches over to set it back on the nightstand.

It's curious, she thinks. Her head -and heart- are so much more full than they were an hour ago. But for some reason, she doesn't feel so sleepless anymore.

She closes her eyes, smiling.

Little does she know that 600 miles away, in a cheap studio apartment in Brooklyn, Jesse St. James is doing the same thing.


End file.
